


six bridesmaids, four groomsmen

by ymorton



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:31:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22904002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: five reasons lovett wasn't a groomsman at tommy's wedding
Relationships: Emily Black Favreau/Jon Favreau, Hanna Koch Vietor/Tommy Vietor, Jon Lovett/Tommy Vietor, Ronan Farrow/Jon Lovett
Comments: 29
Kudos: 49





	1. the enemy

**Author's Note:**

> alternate title: five times fictional tommy was a butthead 
> 
> this has been in the works since the fateful day we all realized lovett wasn't a groomsman. "don't overreact", they said. "don't be dramatic." well i don't see ANYTHING dramatic about writing nearly 16k words of fic in response. do you??
> 
> this is all extremely silly and fictional, it obviously does not reflect reality, please don't show this to any of the real people involved!!! be cool. 
> 
> come yell at me at podsaveoursouls

**1\. the enemy**

The interviewer leans forward, eyes bright.

“So, what’s it like to start a company with your two best friends?”

Tommy looks over at Lovett, who’s zoned out, inspecting his fingernails. Shit. Usually Jon takes that one. He’s technically the only one who can answer it truthfully. 

“It’s good,” Tommy says, forcing a laugh and digging his elbow into Lovett’s side. Lovett jerks away from him. “Right, Lovett? It’s great. It’s been a cool experience.”

Lovett looks up, annoyed. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s great. Trump is President. Every day is a joy.” 

“Sorry,” Tommy says smoothly to the interviewer. “Lovett woke up on the wrong side of the bed, apparently. You have your coffee today, buddy?” 

Lovett huffs and straightens up, scooching his chair away from Tommy. 

“Is it kinda like being back in the White House?” the interviewer says. 

“I mean, it’s pretty different. Thankfully. The hours are much better. We actually have weekends now, which is pretty great.” 

The interviewer laughs. Lovett’s picking his nails again. 

“How about you, Jon?” she says. “It’s pretty different?” 

“Well, before we worked for the government, and now we run a media company,” Lovett drawls. “So yeah. It’s pretty different.” 

“But- but what’s similar is, you know, the energy,” Tommy says hastily. “The passion. Everyone is really committed to our mission, and that’s a really cool thing to experience every day.”

“Sounds like it,” the interviewer says, a little hesitant. “Well, thanks for your time, guys.” 

“Thank _ you_,” Tommy says smoothly, reaching out a hand. “We really appreciate the chance to talk.” 

\---

Tommy makes it ten minutes after the interview before he can’t stop himself from saying, “Lovett.” 

Lovett looks up from his laptop, face already settling into his usual scowl. 

“Can you try not being, like, snarky in interviews? We have that WaPo thing on Tuesday. Just- just fucking pull your weight for once, okay? Just be nice.” 

Lovett scoffs. “Are you kidding? She was practically falling asleep listening to your bullshit.” 

“It’s an interview, Lovett, not a fucking stand-up routine. You can talk normally for once, it won’t kill you. Not everything has to be a joke.” 

Lovett sighs mournfully. “I’m really sorry that no one has ever found you funny in your entire life, Vietor. It must be hard to be born without a sense of humor. That’s tough.” 

“You know what? Why don’t you just- just shut the fuck-“ 

“Guys!” 

It’s Tanya, sticking her head out of a conference room. Tommy stops, face flushing. 

“Let’s talk scheduling,” she says, nodding into the room. “C’mon. I put it on your calendars.” 

“I’m starving,” Lovett whines. “Can we do it after lunch?” 

“Nope,” Tommy says, trying not to sound smug as he follows Tanya into the conference room. “Suck it up.” 

\---

"So, let's talk honeymoon," Tanya says. "What's the plan? For Pod Save the World first, and then America."

"I thought we'd prerecord a few episodes," Tommy says. "Of PSTW, at least. I mean, I don’t just want to leave people hanging for two weeks." 

Lovett laughs, not looking up from his phone. “Somehow I think they’ll survive.”

“Lovett,” Tanya says with a sigh. “Unproductive.” 

“Does he need to be in this meeting?” Tommy asks. He says it perfectly innocently but Lovett still gives him a withering glance. 

Tanya opens her laptop. “Yes, Tommy.” 

“I mean, if he’s just gonna, like, sit there on his phone making snarky comments-“

“Don’t you have a show to promote, Vietor? Maybe focus less on me and more on your listener stats?” 

Tommy flips him the bird and immediately feels embarrassed. He’s just such a fucking brat. 

“Do I need to get Jon on the phone?” Tanya says tightly. “Is that what we need to get through this extremely routine scheduling meeting?”

Jon’s at home with laryngitis. He called them to apologize earlier and Tommy couldn’t understand a word he was saying. 

Lovett sits up with a huff. “Okay, so, Tommy will be in Bali or wherever the fuck,” he says. “Can’t Jon and I just do the pod? Tommy and I had to do it when Jon was on his honeymoon.” 

“Guest hosts could be fun, though,” Tanya says distractedly, scrolling on her trackpad. “I could reach out to Alyssa-“ 

Lovett sighs and opens his mouth but Tommy gets there first.

“C’mon, Tanya, you know how much he loves the sound of his own voice. Don’t take that away from him.”

“Now who’s being unproductive,” Lovett says snidely. 

“_Please_, you guys,” Tanya says. “Please. We have like four potential presidential candidates coming into this office in the next six months. Can you just, like, keep it together? For me? So my stress ulcer doesn’t come back? So I don’t have to see Jon Favreau cry?” 

Tommy’s perfectly willing to keep it together. It’s Lovett who won’t let him, who tries to undermine him at every turn, just for kicks. He’s a manipulative little sadist. He thinks about saying that, but the look Tanya’s giving him says it probably wouldn’t be welcome. 

“Fine,” Lovett says into the silence. “Sorry, Tanya.” 

Tommy glares at him. Lovett’s _ apologizing _ now? That wily fuck. 

Tanya coughs pointedly and Tommy says hastily, “Yeah, sorry, Tanya. We’ll keep it together.” 

“Thank you!” she says, shutting her laptop. “Class dismissed! We’ll talk details when Jon’s back.” 

Lovett pushes himself up out of his chair and bolts out of there, letting the door swing shut in Tommy’s face. From behind him, Tanya snorts. 

Tommy looks at her, pleading. “Do you see him? Do you see what he does?” 

She just shrugs. “Not my fight, Tommy.” 

Tommy grumbles under his breath and shoulders the door open. 

\---

They have another interview on Tuesday, with some lady from WaPo who does a tour of the office and then sits down with them on the couch. Jon’s still mute so it’s just the two of them. 

“So,” the woman says, once the standard questions are out of the way. “Tommy, I hear you’re getting married!” 

Lovett lets out an audible sigh and starts to reach for his phone. Tommy elbows him before he can get to it. 

“I am, yeah,” he says brightly. 

“Congratulations!” 

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” 

“Will the Crooked team be at the wedding? I love how close you guys are.” 

“Oh, sure,” Tommy says, trying not to seem annoyed at the question. “Lots of the old White House crew, too. It’ll be a blast.” 

“I know you guys were both groomsmen at Jon Favreau’s wedding, which was _ so _ cute, by the way, I saw some pictures-” 

Tommy forces out a laugh. Lovett doesn’t even make the effort. 

“So, same kinda thing this time around? Jon, will you be a groomsman? Pod Save the Wedding part two?” 

They both snort at the same time. The reporter looks taken aback. 

“Uhh-” Tommy starts, and Lovett cuts him off with, “Tommy has a strict policy for his wedding party. WASPs only. It’s like a country club in the 1950s. Jim Crow chic.” 

“He’s kidding,” Tommy says, clapping Lovett on the shoulder. Lovett rubs the spot, scowling. “But, uh, you know. It’s gonna be a small party. Family only, really. Sorry, Lovett. I hate to crush your dreams.” 

“Maybe I’ll be a groomsman at your next wedding!” Lovett says brightly. “I’m sure I’ll have my chance.” 

Tommy’s laugh sounds brittle and he claps Lovett on the back again, harder. “Alright, buddy. Enough jokes. Let’s get back to the interview and not waste this woman's time.” 

“Don’t _ touch _ me,” Lovett mutters, and the reporter says over them, “So, uh, why don’t we talk about your upcoming tour!” 

\---

“Saw the WaPo interview,” Jon says the next day, eyebrows raising. 

Tommy sighs, feeling immediately guilty. “Listen, he’s just such a-” 

“Dude. Come on. Please. Can we not get into it today?” 

“I think we held it together pretty well. Tanya didn’t even scold us afterwards.” 

“I mean, you didn’t outright start screaming at each other, if that’s what you mean. But “Jim Crow chic” is not a great pull quote.” Jon laughs and it turns into a deep cough. Tommy takes a subtle step back, reaching for the hand sanitizer on Priyanka’s desk. 

“Yeah, well. Yell at him about that, that wasn’t me.” 

Jon’s eyes are watering from hacking out a lung. He sniffs and says, “I’m not gonna yell at anyone. But is there a way we can just- keep it together? Especially when it comes to the wedding stuff?” 

“How am I not keeping it together?” 

Jon gives him a baleful look. 

“I’m keeping it the fuck together,” Tommy says tightly. “It’s _ him_, dude. He’s the one who-“ 

“Come on, Tom. I don’t want to hear it.” 

“It’s true!” 

Jon rolls his eyes so hard it makes him start coughing again, somehow. He reaches for his iced coffee and takes a slurp. 

“You’re gonna invite him to the wedding, right? I mean, you should at least invite him.” He chokes on a sip and spills a little coffee on his shirt. 

Tommy gingerly hands him a tissue. “Maybe you should have worked from home. You don’t look great.” 

“Don’t change the subject.” 

Tommy sighs, pushing at the Sonos speaker on Jon’s desk with one finger. “Yeah, sure, fine, I’ll invite him.” 

“Thank you.”

“He probably won’t come anyway,” Tommy mutters. “He’ll probably be off sucking Ronan’s dick in fucking Switzerland or wherever.” 

Jon gives him a dark look. “Tommy.” 

“What? I didn’t say that was a bad thing.” 

“He’ll come,” Jon says. “I keep telling you, he wants to be your friend. He really does. He just can’t _ say _ that.” 

“And I keep telling you that’s fucking second-grader logic, dude. I’m sorry that your two best friends don’t like each other, I know that sucks for you, but don’t be in denial about it.” 

“I’m not in denial.” 

“You keep acting like we just need to, like, spend a night locked in a room together making friendship bracelets and telling secrets. We know each other. We lived in the same goddamn house for a year. That’s not the problem.” 

“You_ think _ you know him,” Jon says, under his breath the way he talks when he wants to be done with a conversation. “Anyway. Whatever. It’ll just- look weird if you don’t even invite him, so-” 

“Fine, I’ll invite him.” Tommy looks up as Jon’s office door opens and Lovett pops his head in. 

“Favs, can we-” he sees Tommy and stops, face hardening. “Oh. Tommy. Why are you in here? What, are you guys talking about me?”

“You fucking wish,” Tommy says reflexively. His face goes red and he coughs. “Alright, well, that’s my cue, I guess.” 

“No, Tommy, please, stay,” Lovett says flatly. He holds the door open for Tommy and waves him out like a traffic conductor. 

“Asshole,” Tommy breathes as he passes him. 

“Fuck off,” Lovett hisses back, shutting the door in his face. 


	2. the fight

**2\. the fight**

“Where is it?” Tommy calls. “Did he email it or text it?” 

“Text!” Lovett calls back, from the next room. “Like, yesterday I think!”

“What’s your passcode?” 

Lovett pops his head out, looking suspicious. 

“I’m not telling you,” he says, coming over and turning the screen towards his face so it unlocks. “You might hack all my shit and send it to Russia.” 

“Because that makes sense,” Tommy laughs. He opens up Lovett’s texts. Jon’s is first. He’s about to click it when he sees his name, a couple messages down, in Lovett’s thread with Ronan. Huh. 

He looks up to make sure Lovett’s still gone, and then opens the thread. 

A few hours before, Ronan sent a screenshot that looks familiar. It’s Hanna’s latest Instagram post, the one asking for venue recommendations. The photo is a close-up of her engagement ring on her finger. Under the screenshot, Ronan wrote- 

_ Ronan: Kill me. Exhibit A why we’re never getting married _

_ Ronan: The absolutely unnecessary ring pic, lol. Of course _

_ Ronan: “Preferably nowhere too loud or in the city” hahahah she’s terrified she’ll have to get married in downtown Oakland for woke points _

_ Jon: Hahaha _

_ Jon: Can I give Tommy shit for that or too mean? _

_ Ronan: Oh let the poor man enjoy his extremely boring over the top wedding to JAP Barbie _

_ Ronan: It’s the most important day of his life except for like… arm day _

_ Ronan: Not that I’m criticizing arm day. Tommy’s arms are a large part of his appeal and we all appreciate them. _

_ Jon: Haha _

_ Jon: Had to reschedule the livestream tomorrow because they’re picking out accent colors with the “wedding designer” _

_ Ronan: Oh, of course _

_ Ronan: And yet they wouldn’t reschedule LOLI when you wanted to come to NY. Shocking. _

_ Ronan: It’s Tommy and Hanna’s world we’re all just living in it _

“You find it?” Lovett says, leaning down over him to peer at the screen. 

“Yeah,” Tommy says, voice coming out shaky. “Yeah, I think I found it.” 

He holds up Lovett’s phone, and Lovett squints at it. 

“What does it say?” he asks. He leans closer, and his face pales. 

“What the fuck,” he chokes, grabbing it back. “Don’t- don’t read that. Don’t. That’s private.” 

“Too late,” Tommy says, almost laughing. “You fucking asshole.” 

“You can’t read my fucking texts, Tommy!” 

“Oh, you’re gonna take the high road right now? Are you serious?” 

“That’s not-“ Lovett stops, standing there with his eyes burning, phone clenched in one hand. “I don’t know what you even saw, but-“ 

“JAP Barbie?” Tommy says, since that’s the one that’s been ringing in his head since he read it. “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“Oh- come on.” Lovett swallows hard. “He was kidding. It was just a stupid joke.” 

“Ohh, he was kidding. He was kidding. That’s so-“ Tommy can barely breathe. “You smug asshole. You really think you’re so much fucking better than us, don’t you?” 

“Of course not,” Lovett says shakily. “It was a _ joke_. And I’m not the one who-” 

“Oh, come on. Stand up for your man, Lovett. Don’t be a fucking pussy.” Tommy puts on a sad voice. “Or, wait, are you gonna say that you didn’t like what he saying, but you let him say it, because if you ever stand up to him he’ll go off and screw some other guy in New York? Is that it? You’re scared?” 

Lovett’s mouth moves like he’s going to say something but then he’s silent. For some reason it makes Tommy _ really _ mad, like the bad kind of mad, the kind he can’t control. 

“You know what? I’d rather be a boring straight asshole than some sadsack in an open relationship pretending you don’t mind when he cheats on you over and over. Call me fucking boring, I don’t care.”

“Alright,” Lovett says, voice wobbling. “You done?” 

“Not even close,” Tommy says, throat burning. “You know, he forgot your birthday once, remember that? 33. He didn’t call til the next day. We all had to pretend like that was normal. Like everything was fine.” 

Lovett’s face doesn’t move. He’s very, very still. Tommy hates that. He wants Lovett to react, he wants him to fucking fight back. If Lovett reached out and shoved him right now Tommy would probably start laughing from sheer relief. 

“Who forgets their boyfriend’s _ birthday_?” Tommy asks, voice cracking. He’s been saying this to himself for years. It feels fucking good to say it out loud. “And what about- what about after you moved to LA?” 

Lovett bites the inside of his cheek, eyes hard and steady on Tommy’s, and says nothing. 

“You used to call Jon like every day to complain,” Tommy says. “Do you remember that? I used to wonder why you didn’t just call your boyfriend. It took me a while to figure it out. He just doesn’t _ care_, does he? He doesn’t actually care. About all your day to day stuff. But hey, at least he’s not boring!” 

Finally Lovett moves. He looks away, reaches for his bag. 

“Nothing to say?” Tommy asks. His face is burning hot. 

Lovett shakes his head. He shoves his chair in and Tommy follows him to the door, feeling sick. 

“Ohh, you’re gonna run away,” he says, voice shaking. “Very cool. You can dish it out but you can’t take it, huh, Lovett?”

The door slams. Tommy hears his footsteps pounding down the stairs. 

\---

Twenty minutes later Lovett’s car is still in the parking lot. Tommy packs up his bag and goes down there. 

Through the window he can see Lovett, head turned away. Staring down at his phone maybe. Tommy knocks on the window and Lovett jumps. 

When he turns Tommy feels a clench in his stomach. Lovett’s been crying. He rolls the window down, blinking, rubbing his nose. 

“What?” 

“Thought you went home,” Tommy says stupidly. 

Lovett sniffs hard and doesn’t respond. He looks down at his phone. 

“Are you gonna go home?” 

“Why the fuck do you care,” Lovett mutters. 

“You can’t just sit here all night. Come on.” 

“Do you-“ Lovett’s voice breaks and he rubs his wrist over his eyes. “Do you even want me to come to your wedding? Like, just tell me if you don’t want me there.” 

Tommy’s throat tightens so much he can’t speak. He can’t imagine getting married without Lovett there. But then again, it echoes in his head. _ Let the poor man enjoy his extremely boring wedding_. The two of them laughing at him, at Hanna, while they say their vows-

“Okay,” Lovett chokes, when Tommy doesn’t say anything. “Cool. I- I get it.” 

“No, Lovett, I-” Tommy rubs his hand over his eyes. “Lovett. Of course I want you there. You’re one of my best friends. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Just not with Ronan.” Lovett sniffles. “Right? Everyone gets a plus-one but me. Because you don’t approve of him.” 

“No, that’s not- Jesus, why are you making this my fault? You’re the one talking shit about me and my fiancé-”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Lovett snaps. “He was just kidding-” 

“Don’t fucking defend that. Don’t, like-” Tommy chokes on a breath. “Think you can just say whatever you want just because I’m straight? Is that your excuse? That you’re what, punching up?” 

Lovett goes silent again, mouth tight.

“Don’t fucking hide behind that. This isn’t making fun of some random person on Twitter. I’m your friend.” 

“Don’t- don’t act like you don’t do it too,” Lovett stammers out. “Come on, Tommy. Don’t act all holier than thou-” 

“Do what? Make fun of my friends? You think Hanna and I sit around and talk shit about you and Ronan? Call you names?” 

“We all do it,” Lovett says stubbornly. “It doesn’t mean we-” 

“No we _ don’t_, Lovett. No we don’t. You’re projecting.” Tommy forces out a laugh. “You think Hanna cares enough to make fun of you? She doesn’t think about you.” 

Lovett’s face is hot and red and he looks miserable. Tommy thinks about him in the car alone, hunched over, crying. He wants it to happen again. He wants to see it. 

“You know what? I don’t want you as one of my groomsmen,” he says, swallowing hard. “You can come to the wedding, whatever, I don’t care, but I’m not gonna let you stand up there and laugh at us while we get married.” 

Lovett says nothing. He looks away, out the other window. 

“You hear me? Lovett?” 

He nods, still not looking at him. 

“Are you ignoring me now?” 

“No,” Lovett mumbles. “I heard you.” 

“Good,” Tommy says. He’s starting to come out of it now and he feels shaky. “Good. Go the fuck home." 

Lovett sniffles and slowly rolls up the window. 

Only when he’s gone can Tommy get into his car. He’s still breathing hard, blood racing with leftover adrenaline. He sits there for a few minutes, trying to slow his heart rate. Finally he reaches for his phone and texts Hanna. 

_ Hey_, he types. _ Change of plans with the wedding party. We’ll talk about it tonight. Love you _


	3. the crush

**3\. the crush**

Tommy snorts at the scene a half block in front of him. Jon’s entire body is draped over Lovett’s shoulder and the two of them are staggering along like a three-legged race. It looks painful, actually. Maybe Tommy should help. It’s his bachelor party, so it’s technically his fault that Jon took six shots of tequila in a row. Even if it wasn’t Tommy’s idea. 

He leaves Shomik and Brendan behind and hurries to catch up, just as Jon and Lovett stagger around a corner, bracing themselves on the wall of a building. 

“You’re an idiot,” Lovett’s saying. “If you throw up on me, I’m gonna tell Emily.” 

“Oh _ I’m _ an idiot,” Jon says, slurred. “I’m an idiot. At least I didn’t plan the bachelor weekend for - for the guy I’m fuckin’ in _ love _ with.” 

Tommy stops walking and ducks behind the corner, breath catching in his throat. 

“Hey,” Lovett says tiredly. He doesn’t sound surprised. “Not fair.” 

“You love him, dude. You _ love _ him. You should be at home, like, crying into a pillow. It’s fucking tragic. You’re being self - self- self destructive and shit.” 

“Jesus, you’re drunk. How did you get this drunk? Why didn’t the bartender cut you off?” 

“I’m right though. I’m soooo right. Emily thinks so too.” 

“Shut up, Jon.” 

“_You _ shut up,” Jon protests, voice getting fainter as they walk away. Tommy stands there, just breathing, until Brendan grabs his shoulders from behind and shakes him. 

“What’s up, bro? You good? You gonna puke?” 

“No,” Tommy says, dazed. “Just- just taking a minute.” 

“Come on,” Brendan says, clapping him on the back. “Let’s get back to the place. I wanna smoke up.” 

“I need to call Nikki,” Shomik mumbles. 

“No way, dude. No wives. Not allowed.”

Tommy lets himself be pulled.   
  
\---

Lovett’s sitting at the counter at the airBnB, sipping a glass of water. He looks up when they open the door. 

“Hey,” he says. “Avoid the first floor bathroom, Jon’s- having a hard time.” 

He mimes throwing up, and Shomik and Brendan start laughing. Tommy just stares at him, until Lovett huffs a laugh and says, “Tommy? You good?” 

“Yeah,” Tommy mumbles, looking away. “Just drunk.” 

“You want water?” Lovett slides off the stool and starts opening cabinets to find a glass. 

“I’ll take a water, Lovett,” Shomik says, kicking off his shoes. 

Tommy goes to collapse on the couch. He tips his head back, staring at the ceiling. 

“Here,” Lovett says, sitting on the ottoman. He holds out a glass of water. 

Tommy reaches out to take it, conscious of how their fingers touch. 

“You good?” Lovett asks, quietly, watching him. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” 

“Jon’s fucked.” Lovett laughs. His eyes are shiny like he’s not too sober himself. “He threw up, like, a _ little _ outside in the bushes, but I think most of it got in the toilet.” 

Tommy lets out a halfhearted laugh. “Poor Jon.” 

“Yeah. Not sure if he’s gonna make it to the wine tour tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know.” Tommy sips his water and then looks up at the ceiling again. It’s easier than looking at Lovett. He can feel him watching. Observing him. Why has he never noticed that before? 

“Anyway,” Lovett says after a beat, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Do you want to smoke? I think the other guys want to smoke.” 

“I’m good,” Tommy says, closing his eyes and sighing. “Think I’m just gonna go to bed.” 

“Sure you’re okay?” 

“I said I’m good, dude.” It comes out sharper than he means it to.

“Alright, fine,” Lovett mutters, pushing himself to his feet. “Don’t have to be a dick.” 

Tommy stays very still until he feels Lovett walk away. 

Upstairs, he lies awake for a while, eyes heavy. He can smell weed through the open window, can hear them laughing, talking in low voices. 

He can’t stop thinking about Lovett’s response, when Jon said that. _ Hey. Not fair_. He didn’t even try to defend himself. Like it was just an established fact. 

_ The guy you’re in love with_. _ Hey. Not fair. _

Tommy groans and rolls over onto his stomach, punching the pillow into shape and squeezing his eyes shut. 

\---

He stews on it for a week or two, and then he has an idea. He takes Jon out after work, to a taco place near the office they've both been wanting to try, and waits until he's on his second margarita before he says, very casually, “So. Lovett and I had a pretty interesting conversation the other day.”

“Mm?” Jon says quizzically, mouth full of al pastor. 

“Yeah.” Tommy raises his eyebrows at him. “We talked about his whole- thing for me. We really got into it.” 

Jon’s eyes widen and he swallows fast, throat bobbing. “What do you mean?” 

“Oh, come on. I know you know.” 

Jon laughs nervously. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, dude.” 

“Alright, Jon.” Tommy laughs. It’s kinda cute, Jon trying to cover. Someone who didn’t know him so well might actually buy it. “Don’t worry, bro. He told me everything. We talked it all out.” 

Jon blinks a few times, searching Tommy’s face. Finally he says- “When?” 

_ Yes._ He’s in. He keeps his face very blank. “At my bachelor party. The night you puked. The other guys passed out, we just started talking, and- yeah. It all came out.” 

“You mean he like- hit on you?” Jon’s wincing. 

“Jesus! No. Come on.” Tommy laughs. “No, he just- you know, he told me how he feels. We talked it out. He made a big confession, I told him it wasn’t a big deal. It was fine.” 

Jon cautiously puts down his fork. 

“Wow,” he says. “I didn’t think he would, like- wow. I can’t believe he just went for it.” 

“Well, it’s not a big deal, right?” 

“It’s a pretty big fucking deal to _ him_!” Jon bursts out, and then goes red, reaching for his margarita. Tommy tries not to laugh. 

“Is it?” he says innocently. “He didn’t say that. He just said, you know, that it hadn’t been a thing for that long. That it wasn’t a huge deal. Just something kinda awkward.” 

Jon snorts, putting down his drink. “That what he told you?” 

Tommy has to fight down a smile. He hasn’t done this in a while. Jon is so easy, it feels unfair. “Wait, is that not true?” 

“Dude, he’s been into you since the fucking ‘08 primaries,” Jon says, huffing a laugh. “Even if he totally hated you at first.” 

“He did?” 

Jon nods, mouth full. He swallows. “Yeah, dude. You yelled at him on the campaign trail or something? Some snarky thing he put in a speech? Apparently it made an impression.” 

Tommy remembers that. Late after a campaign event and a couple beers, watching replays of Hillary’s speech in Nevada and stepping outside to call him. He was in Tommy’s phone as _ Clinton Speechwriter (John?) _ but Tommy privately thought of him as _ Bitchy Little Asshole_. He gave him a slightly tipsy dressing-down and Lovett screamed right back, not giving an inch, until Tommy hung up in a fury, _ really _ wanting to throw his phone against the wall. 

Huh. He hasn’t thought about that night in a while. 

“Yeah, no, it’s been forever,” Jon says unwittingly. He takes another gulp. “For sure since DC. I mean, you moving down here definitely didn’t help. The proximity.” 

“Does he, like, talk about it with you?” 

Jon shrugs. “Not much. More with Emily.” 

Tommy looks down, fiddling with his napkin. “Oh, yeah, he said something about that.” 

“About her being like his little therapist? Honestly, Emily loves it. Don’t tell him that though.” 

Tommy doesn’t let his face change. “I won’t.” 

Jon nods, a couple times. He puts his chin in his hand. “I know it’s kinda awkward, but, like. I hope it doesn’t mess anything up. With Crooked, I mean. Like, Lovett doesn’t want anything to, you know, jeopardize this. He just wants things to be normal. That’s why he does all this shit like plan your bachelor weekend. You know, that sucked for him. It wasn’t easy.” 

“I know,” Tommy says, even though he didn’t know. Lovett’s a good liar. “I’m not gonna be an asshole about it, I promise.” 

“It’s not like he’s gonna run down the aisle and pull Hanna off you. He’s not, like, crazy. It’s just like a crush he’s had forever.” 

“What about Ronan?” 

Jon rolls his eyes and Tommy huffs a dutiful laugh, watching Jon’s face carefully. He might be pushing too hard, trying his luck, but he says, “Do you think he knows?” 

“About him being in love with you? Oh, yeah, he’s known forever. Lovett says he doesn’t mind. Knows it’s not going anywhere, or whatever.” 

That’s so fucking weird to hear. _ In love with you_. 

“How does he not mind?” 

“Dude, I have no idea. I’d have a problem if my partner, or whatever they’re calling it these days, was hopelessly in love with some other dude, but I’m not trying to get inside the mind of Ronan Farrow. I think you need to be a licensed professional for that.” 

Tommy laughs again. “True.” 

“Thank you,” Jon says, smiling at the waitress as she takes his plate. He turns back to Tommy. “Anyway, just- be nice about it, okay?” 

“Of course,” Tommy says. “I’m not gonna be a dick.” 

“Okay, good.” Jon looks at him earnestly and Tommy holds his gaze. His pulse is thumping. “Are you going to tell Hanna?” 

Tommy hadn’t even thought about that. “No,” he says. He’s not sure if he will or not, but that seems like what Jon wants to hear. “No, it’s okay. It’s no big deal, right?” 

“Right,” Jon says, looking satisfied. He drains his margarita. For a split second Tommy’s almost _ mad _ at him, on Lovett’s behalf. Jon folded like a fucking piece of paper. 

Tommy looks down before Jon can see anything in his face. 

“Well,” he says. “Should we get the check?” 

Jon starts digging for his wallet and Tommy tosses his card on the table. “No worries, dude,” he says. Jon grins back, grateful. “I got it.” 

\---

It only takes a week for the shit to hit the fan. Tommy looks up when Jon comes into work and knows immediately that he’s fucked. Jon gives him one tight, furious look and then says, forcing a smile, “Morning, everybody.” 

There’s a tired chorus of greetings. Priyanka just waves, not looking up from her laptop. 

“Morning,” Tommy says, looking back down at his computer. If Jon knows, that means he and Lovett talked. It means Lovett knows, too. He takes a sip of coffee and considers his next move. Jon’s passive enough that he might never bring it up again, but Tommy can’t just let it fester. Lovett’s the worst when he’s mad and it’ll fuck up their work for months. People will start to notice.

After an hour, he stops Jon in the hall outside the recording studio.

“Hey,” he says carefully. “Something wrong?” 

Jon snorts bitterly and says nothing. 

“Let me guess,” Tommy says. “You talked to Lovett.” 

“Wow, good fucking guess, Tom.” 

“And now you guys are mad at me.” 

Jon just huffs a breath. 

“Right?” 

“I just don’t- I don’t even get what happened. Like, you lied to me. Right?” 

“Jon, I needed to know what-” 

“The thing I keep trying to figure out is, like, how’d you even get the idea?” Jon asks. “Where’d it come from? Lovett clearly didn’t talk to you that night, so, how did you even come up with that?” 

Tommy’s not sure if it’s productive to tell him that right now. He just lowers his voice and says softly, “I’m sorry, dude. I know I was a dick. But I really needed to-” 

“Like, did he hint at _ something_? Did I hint at something? I keep trying to figure it out.”

Tommy sighs. 

“My bachelor party,” he says. “You were wasted. I overheard you guys talking about it.” 

Jon looks at him disbelievingly. 

“So you eavesdropped on us and then fucking- used it against me?” he says. “Jesus, Tommy.”

“Jon, I didn’t-” 

“That’s messed up.” 

“To be fair, dude,” Tommy says coolly. “You could try holding your cards a _ little _ closer to the chest.” 

Jon recoils, eyes wide on his. 

“You dick,” he breathes. “Sorry I didn’t think my best _ fucking _ friend would be, what, running a con on me? Jesus Christ. Sorry I fucking trusted you. Guess that was my bad.” 

“Oh, don’t be melodramatic.” 

Jon turns away, picking up his coffee. 

“Jon, come on. I needed to know. Wouldn’t you want to know? If it were you?” 

“Whatever,” Jon says behind him. “Let’s just do the show.” 

\---

Lovett’s fifteen minutes late to record but he shows. He bustles in with his sunglasses on, drops his bag with a thunk and sits down in his chair without making eye contact with either of them. 

“Sorry,” he says curtly. “Traffic. Are we doing this? Let’s do this.” 

“Let’s do this,” Elijah echoes, after a confused second. “Jon, you set?” 

Jon sniffs in a breath and swipes his iPad open. “Set.” 

“Alright then.” 

After the show Lovett shoves his chair back and says, “I’m going to Starbucks. Jon, you want anything?” 

“I’m good,” Jon says, not looking up from his Ipad. 

“Great.” Lovett lets the studio door swing shut behind him. Tommy looks at Jon, who’s still ignoring him, and then follows Lovett out. 

He catches up to him in the stairwell, reaches out for his arm when Lovett tries to leave. 

“Don’t touch me,” Lovett snaps. Tommy lets go, holds his hands up.

“Sorry,” he says. “Can we just talk for a minute?” 

Lovett turns to face him, jaw setting. 

“Well?” he says, when Tommy doesn’t start talking. “What do you want? I need coffee.” 

Tommy’s not sure where to start. Now that Lovett’s there in front of him he doesn’t feel so convinced it was a good idea to talk it out. Maybe he should just let it fester. Festering might be better than the look Lovett has on his face right then, his whole body tense like a cornered animal. 

“Listen,” Tommy starts. “I know you’re pissed at me. But I think you know that we need to talk about this.” 

Lovett scoffs. Tommy keeps going before he can open his mouth. 

“I just- I know it was a dick move, what I did. But let’s just face it. I did what I did, and Jon said what he said, and now, you know, now I know what I know.” 

“You really don’t know anything, actually,” Lovett says. “Jon’s full of shit.” 

“I know that you have, like- that you have, or maybe had, um, some feelings for me-” 

“Oh fuck off,” Lovett says weakly, voice breaking. “Tommy, seriously.” 

“- and that maybe it hasn’t been- easy for you? All the wedding stuff and everything-” 

“We’re not talking about this. Nope.” Lovett tries to shove past him to open the door. “Get out of my way, Tommy.” 

“Just listen. Listen.” Tommy puts his arm over the door and Lovett sinks back on his heels, wild-eyed. “I just - I just want you to know that I’m not, uh, mad or anything. It’s okay. I’m not.” 

“Tommy,” Lovett says, desperately. “Please. Can we just not talk about this?”

“But I was just thinking, maybe, you know-” Tommy tries to say it right. “Maybe if it were me, I wouldn’t, like, want to have it shoved in my face. By like, having to participate in all the groomsman stuff. And I totally get that.” 

There’s a long, taut silence. Tommy swallows and says, “It’s like Jon said.” 

Lovett lets out a harsh laugh. “What did Jon say? Enlighten me.” 

“Just that it’s been- harder. Since I moved down here. With, like, proximity. To be honest, he told me the bachelor weekend was hard. For you.” 

Lovett looks away. 

“And being a groomsman, I mean, it’s a lot of that. Of- proximity. And proximity to me- getting married. I mean, I’d feel weird about that. If it were me.” 

Lovett just nods a couple times, mouth held tight. “Yeah, sure. You’re right.”

“Lovett.” 

“No, I get it.” Lovett forces a smile. “Thanks. Yeah. I wouldn’t want me to be a groomsman either. I totally get it. I see where you’re going.” 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“It’s fine. I get it.” 

“I’m not fucking saying that, dude. Don’t put words in my mouth. I obviously want you to be a groomsman, I fucking asked you.” 

“Well- well, I don’t.” 

“Don’t what? Want to be a groomsman?” 

“Yeah,” Lovett says. His face is pink and he can’t look Tommy in the eye. “You were right. I don’t want to.” 

“Well, thanks for being honest.” 

Lovett nods tightly, fidgeting. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Tommy says uncomfortably. “And you don't have to be in the wedding. But I just hope that we can-” 

“Can I go now? Like, am I allowed to leave, or-” 

Tommy talks over him. “I just hope that we can like, put it behind us, and- and not make a big deal about it. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“I _ never_,” Lovett chokes out, face reddening so fast it scares Tommy. “I never made a big deal about it or- or- I was never going to do _ anything_, like, you’re the one who-”

“I know!” Tommy says hastily. “I know. I know. I wasn’t saying that. I just meant, like, generally.” 

Lovett stares at him for a second, looking a little like he’s about to cry, and then he ducks under Tommy’s arm to shove the door open. 

“Are we good?” Tommy calls after him, stomach sinking. He doesn’t feel like they’re good. 

“Sure, Tommy. We’re good.” Lovett lets the door swing shut behind him.


	4. the affair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as the title may reveal this chapter is about cheating, proceed with caution

**4\. the affair**

The hotel door shuts behind them, and Tommy drops to his knees as Lovett scrambles with the zip of his jeans. 

“C’mon,” Tommy gasps, shoving him back towards the bed until Lovett sits down with a thump. “C’mon-” 

Lovett’s silent except for his harsh breath. Finally he’s exposed and Tommy leans forward and fills his mouth with Lovett’s cock. Lovett gives a whimper and leans back on his elbows, legs falling open. God he smells good, tastes so good, that familiar feeling Tommy finds himself sharply craving sometimes when he’s alone. He always convinces himself he doesn’t want it anymore, right up until it’s a possibility again and then he’s like a fucking drug addict planning how to get a hit. It’s awful. 

Lovett fists his hand in Tommy’s hair and everything goes white and blank in Tommy’s brain. All that’s left is the weight of Lovett in his mouth, the ache of his knees on the carpet. The struggle to breathe around it, his eyes prickling as he squeezes them shut. Nothing else. Lovett moans, pulling his head closer by the hair, feet shifting on the floor. 

“Tommy,” he gasps. “Fuck.” 

Tommy goes deeper. 

Near the end Lovett’s voice rises and he starts to whimper Tommy’s name, over and over and over. Tommy goes faster with his hand and mouth, pushing him closer, until finally Lovett shudders and spills against Tommy’s lips. 

For a minute it’s so hot Tommy can’t get enough, gasping and mouthing at him for more, and then Lovett goes still except for his harsh breathing and Tommy pulls away, starts rubbing his face and sticky mouth with his hands, embarrassed. He feels hot all over, out of control, and his dick is so hard it hurts. He looks up when he feels like he can, just as Lovett’s sitting up, still panting. 

“Jesus,” Lovett says, voice hoarse. He shivers, all down his back. “Jesus.” 

Tommy wants to ask if he was good, if it felt good, but he can’t make the words come out of his mouth. He just swallows hard, a couple times, trying to get the taste out of his throat. 

Lovett lifts his hips and wriggles back into his jeans, zipping them up. 

“C’mon,” he says, not looking at him, jerking his head at the bed. “Get up here.” 

Tommy’s not sure his legs will support him. He braces himself on the bed, and Lovett slides to his knees in front of him.

Tommy’s breath sticks in his throat as Lovett slowly unzips his jeans. 

“Wow,” Lovett says, carefully stretching the waistband of Tommy’s briefs over his dick. “You’re this hard just from blowing me?” 

“Shut up,” Tommy breathes. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t come in your jeans.” Lovett thumbs at the tip. “Fucking cocksucker.” 

Tommy whimpers and Lovett laughs as he lowers his head. 

He’s just getting into it when his phone starts buzzing in the pocket of his jeans on the floor. Lovett pulls off, breathing hard, wiping his chin with his hand. 

“Fucking- shit.” Tommy sits up with a huff of breath and reaches for it. It’s not Hanna, thank God, but it’s almost as bad. 

“Hey,” Tommy says into the phone. _ Favs_, he mouths to Lovett, and Lovett sinks back on his heels. 

“Hey!” Jon says. He sounds like he’s chewing something. “Where are you? We’re gonna go out, you want to come?”

Lovett’s watching him, wide-eyed. Tommy pulls a pillow over his lap.

“I’m- I’m pretty wiped,” he says, looking away from Lovett, at the window with the curtains drawn tight. “Think I might go to sleep soon.” 

“You feeling okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Just a long flight.” 

“Yeah, I feel you.” Jon yawns audibly. “I don’t even know if we’re gonna go. Lovett’s not answering his phone. Maybe he’s asleep.” 

“Mm,” Tommy says, feeling sick. “I don’t know.” 

He thinks of Jon knocking on Lovett’s door and adds hastily, “I think he might be asleep. He said he was tired after the show.” 

Lovett looks up. _ Me_? he mouths. Tommy ignores him. 

“Yeah, probably,” Jon says. “So how’d you think the show went tonight?” 

Christ. Jon wants to _ talk-_talk. Tommy rubs his hand over his face. “I think it was good.” 

“Because Tanya had some notes. About, like, flow. And the topic order.” Jon yawns again. “She thinks we should lead with foreign policy tomorrow cuz of Trump’s tweets today. I’m looking at the outline right now, I think it would work. Are you good with going first?” 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Tommy says. Lovett’s pushing himself to his feet, rubbing his knees with a scowl on his face. Tommy holds up a finger. “I’m really tired, dude, let’s go over it tomorrow morning. Okay? Sorry.” 

“Yeah, get some sleep,” Jon says easily. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” 

“Good night.” 

“Night.” 

Tommy hangs up. Lovett crosses an arm over his chest. 

“What’d he want?” 

“They’re going out. He said he called you.” 

Lovett absently rubs his mouth. “He’s not going to my room, is he?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

Lovett nods a few times and then says, “Do you want me to keep-” 

“I mean, yeah,” Tommy says sheepishly. “If you’re okay with that.” 

“My knees are killing me,” Lovett says. “Move back a little.” 

He leans down over the bed, propping himself up on his elbow, and gets back to work. His mouth is so hot, so tight, and he makes these little wet noises around Tommy’s cock that make Tommy shudder. When his eyes won’t stay open he tips his head back and tries to breathe, mind racing through scenarios like it does when he’s jacking off, looking for one to latch onto so he can finish. 

Finally he settles on the night he slept over at Lovett’s, just after the new year. Hanna was in Maryland with her family and Ronan was - wherever he goes. Gone. Not in LA. Tommy was watching Netflix half-asleep with Lucca when Lovett texted him. _ Want to come over? _They never really did that in LA, because there wasn’t time, and Tommy’s heart started thumping at the possibilities. He thought about saying no, about drawing a clear boundary. But in the end he didn’t. He’s never been good at that. 

He remembers it took them awhile to get to it, like they were actually just going to hang out, neither of them wanting to be the first to break. Then Lovett went conspicuously silent, put his hands on the counter behind him and looked at him until Tommy finally got the hint. 

After that things went fast. They fucked that night, for the first and probably last time. _ Christ _ it was good. The whole time Tommy couldn’t stop getting off on it, couldn’t believe what they were doing, how far it was going. Lovett, who always acted like he didn’t particularly care what Tommy did, Lovett who had a boyfriend he loved on the other side of the country - _ that _ Lovett was on his hands and knees in bed, head down, his body yielding for Tommy. Letting him in. 

Sometimes Tommy still thinks about that night, when Lovett looks at him strange or moves in just the right way. He thinks about the noise Lovett made as Tommy pushed into him, the way he almost sobbed as he came, and how he put his face down against his folded arms afterwards and went so perfectly still that Tommy placed a hand on his bare back to check if he was breathing. 

Afterwards Lovett was embarrassed, timid almost, like Tommy had fucked all the fight out of him. Tommy thought he was mad, maybe, but then Lovett let him sleep over, and in the morning Tommy woke up to him sliding under the duvet and putting his mouth on Tommy’s morning wood. 

Tommy’s stomach clenches with the memory and reaches down to pull Lovett off him before he comes too fast. 

“Wait,” he gasps, taking Lovett by the chin. “Wait.” 

Lovett looks up at him warily. 

“Remember-” Tommy rubs his thumb over his slick bottom lip. “Remember that time at your house? When I slept over?” 

He says it like that because it was rare. It was only that night that they did it in Lovett’s house. It was only that night that they slept in the same bed. Tommy remembers waking up in the middle of the night and seeing Lovett all bundled up in the duvet, on the very edge of the bed facing away from him, like even in his sleep he knew what they were doing was wrong. 

After a second Lovett says, grudgingly, “Yeah, I remember.” 

“Remember-” Tommy’s voice falters. “Remember when we fucked? When I fucked you?” 

“Obviously,” Lovett says, small. His face is so weird right then. Mouth stubborn and eyes so wide. Like he can’t decide. 

Tommy touches his lip again, pulls it. “Remember the morning after? You- you did this. You gave me head.” 

Lovett blinks up at him and says nothing this time. His breath is hot against Tommy’s hand. 

Tommy’s voice drops. “I remember you swallowed. It was so fucking hot. I didn’t think you were going to. I didn’t know you, like, did that.” 

Lovett shivers down his back and says, muffled, “Shut up.” 

Tommy’s mindless with it now, with the pulse in his dick and Lovett’s bottom lip caught between his fingers. He feels drunk with power, completely lost in it. Maybe that’s why he says, “Do you do that with Ronan? Do you swallow? When you guys are-” 

Lovett’s eyes widen and he jerks his head out of Tommy’s grasp. “Shut up,” he says, sharper this time. “What are you doing?

“You fucking like it,” Tommy says, so low it’s almost a groan. “You like sucking dick.” 

“So do you,” Lovett says defiantly, and Tommy shoves his head down again before he can say anything else. But he thinks about it, as Lovett sucks him. _ So do you_. Tommy does. He tips his head back and gasps at the ceiling. He does, he does. He likes it in his mouth, he-

“Fuck-” he chokes on a breath, stomach clenching. “God, fuck yes. Swallow it. Swallow it, please, yes, fucking take it-” 

He can feel Lovett’s throat against the head of his dick, taking him deep. He draws in a shaking breath, holds tight. 

“_God_,” he gasps, blissful, when it finally hits, when it all comes together. “Fuck, yeah.” 

When he can open his eyes again, he sees Lovett above him, mouth swollen and wet. 

“Don’t-” he starts hoarsely. “Don’t fucking talk about Ronan while we’re doing this, ever again.” 

Tommy nods quickly and tugs at Lovett’s hand to bring him closer. Lovett crawls on top of him and leans down and kisses him hard, caging him in with his forearms so Tommy’s pinned. Tommy could throw him off if he wanted to but he doesn’t. He doesn’t. He just opens his mouth and lets Lovett lick and suck his tongue, slow and hungry, like they have all the time in the world. His mouth tastes sour, but then so does Tommy’s. They taste like each other. Tommy groans helplessly at the thought. 

Finally Lovett sits up. He’s flushed, straddling Tommy’s waist, belly heaving as he breathes. Tommy looks up at him, runs his palms up Lovett’s thighs and wishes, suddenly, that he could stay the night, that they could do it again in the morning. Of course they can’t but Tommy just wishes it. Just for a minute, and then Lovett coughs and climbs off of him and the moment is broken. Tommy lies back, looks at the ceiling instead of at Lovett slowly getting himself back together. He breathes in deep, lets it out slow. 

“Just gonna-” Lovett says, before he disappears into the bathroom and shuts the door. Tommy’s alone. He feels wrenched open and guilty and satisfied at the same time, just like he always does. Not even just when they actually- do it. Even when he uses the memory to get himself off, he feels this way after. He wonders if Lovett ever gets off thinking about it too. Fuck, he hopes it’s not just him. 

He puts a hand over his face and draws in a long breath. 

After a minute, Lovett comes out of the bathroom fully dressed. He zips up his hoodie and just like that he’s - himself again. The same Lovett Tommy laughed at onstage an hour ago. The same one who sat next to Tommy on the plane the day before and kept his headphones on the entire flight. 

It makes him feel empty inside, because if Lovett’s himself again that means Tommy has to be himself again too. He draws in a long breath and sits up. 

Lovett picks up his phone and wallet on the desk. 

“Gonna head back?” Tommy asks. 

“Yeah,” Lovett says, not looking at him. “I’m tired.” 

“Me too.” 

Lovett pauses with his hand on the doorknob. 

“Why are you getting married?” 

Tommy’s stomach drops. He says, low, “Don’t do that. Come on.” 

He’s expecting Lovett to fight. Part of him wants him to, to drag this all out into the open and make Tommy face it. But Lovett just sniffs in a breath and opens the door. 

“See you tomorrow,” Tommy says into the silence. 

The door shuts behind him. 

\---

“Hey,” Lovett says, when they’re on the flight back to LA, pulling out one AirPod. He nods at Jon. “Is he out?” 

Tommy leans over to check. Jon popped a Xanax before the flight and he has his noise-canceling headphones on. 

“Yeah, he’s asleep. What’s up?” 

Lovett’s quiet for a long minute. Then he says, voice small, “Alright. I just want to ask. Are there other guys? Who you’ve like, been with?” 

“Dude.” Tommy’s heart rate spikes and he checks on Jon again. “Stop talking.” 

“I’m just wondering.” Lovett’s fiddling with the inflight magazine and not looking at him. “If there are other people you’re- doing this with. Or if it’s just me.” 

“It’s just you,” Tommy says, trying to stay calm. “Of course it’s just you. I’m not a sociopath.” 

Lovett nods, still staring at the magazine. “Were there?” he says. “Like, before you met her?” 

“Why are you asking me this right now?” 

“I’m just wondering. We’ve never talked about it.” 

“I don’t see why we would need to talk about it.“

“I’m just asking.” Lovett chews his lip. “I just want to know.” 

Tommy inhales slowly. He looks over at Jon, sleeping peacefully against the window. 

“Fine,” he says. “Yeah. Yes. In college. Nothing serious.” 

Lovett nods a few times and then says, “Does she know about that?” 

Tommy groans through his teeth. “Lovett.” 

Lovett looks over at him. 

“No, she doesn’t know,” Tommy says. “There’s literally no reason for her to know. It wasn’t anything serious. Just a couple hook-ups.” 

It’s not _ really _ a lie, but it still sticks in his throat. It wasn’t serious with the guy - a senior Tommy met at a party, slept with a few times his sophomore year, and then never spoke to again. That part wasn’t serious. But the part where Tommy agonized over it for months, thought about coming out to his parents, went to one ill-fated LGBTQ meeting and snuck out after ten minutes, face burning- that part felt deadly fucking serious, at least until Tommy started dating a girl and decided to just- not. Decided to just put it aside. Cut it off. God, he hasn’t thought about that in a while. It brings back that old scared feeling, of losing control over himself. He lets out a slow breath. 

Lovett is infuriatingly quiet. Finally he says, “We need to stop. After you get married.” 

Fucking dick. Tommy _ knows _ that, he’s always known that. He forces a sour laugh. “Fuck it, let’s stop right now.” 

Lovett looks at him, eyes narrowing. 

“Fine,” he says. “Maybe we should.” 

“Fine,” Tommy says. “Good.”

He slips his headphones in pointedly and looks past Jon, out the window. His heart’s pounding. That’s that, then. Tommy should’ve done that a long time ago. 

But he’s already thinking of all the things they won’t get to do. He’ll never have a second chance to fuck Lovett, or to see what it might feel like for Lovett to do the same to him. He’ll never put his mouth on a dick again. He’ll never catch eyes with him across the hotel elevator and know in his gut that Lovett’s going to follow him back to his room. That’s weird to think about, how the door’s just- closed. How that part of his life is over. He used to have it and now he doesn’t. 

For a minute it feels so colossally unfair that he almost tears up. Then reality sets back in, like a weight on his shoulders. He’s getting married to the most beautiful woman he’s ever met. He doesn’t need anyone or anything else. 

He shouldn’t have needed it _ before_, but that’s over now. He can’t change what he did. He can’t go back and make himself stronger against it. He can only move forward and try to be better. 

His phone vibrates in his lap. It’s an email from Hanna, one of their many wedding-planning threads. 

_ Ok re: bridal party… so hard to decide ugh. I’m going to stick with six people!! Ashley/Emily/Rachel/Laura/Melanie/Taylor. So you can do six or less, just send me a list by Friday so I can order the invites! _

_ Love you!! Can’t wait to see you tonight! _

Tommy opens up a reply and stops to think, the cursor blinking. Lovett’s silent next to him, his body angled away. 

_ Sounds good, _ he finally types, tipping the screen so Lovett can’t see. _ Planning to ask Jon, Shomik, Paul, and Brendan. I’ll get addresses to you this week. I’ll be home around 3pm but may have to stop in at the office for a bit. Love you. _

He hits Send and looks up. Another thing that’s over then. This one fills him with relief. He had two days of easy bliss after the engagement and then they were in a staff meeting and it hit him like a ton of bricks. He looked at Lovett across the table, who was texting and barely listening, and then he thought about standing at the altar marrying Hanna with Lovett right there next to them with the rest of the groomsmen, dutifully watching, and his stomach clenched so hard he had to cough to cover it up. 

Now he doesn’t have to think about it. Lovett won’t be up there, watching. He’ll be a dozen rows back sitting next to his boyfriend. Tommy won’t have to think about it on his wedding day. Sure, he’ll have to make some shit up for Jon, to explain why Lovett’s not a groomsman. But it’ll be worth it. 

Tommy startles when Lovett reaches over him to jostle Jon’s knee. 

“Favs,” he says. “Wake up.” To Tommy he mutters, “He told me to wake him up when the drink cart came.” 

He told Tommy too. Tommy takes over, pulling one of Jon’s headphones off and saying, “Hey, man. Drinks.” 

Jon yawns and then smiles sleepily, eyes crinkling up. There’s drool on the collar of his shirt. 

“Hey.” 

Tommy laughs. Jon on benzos is one of his favorite Jons. “How you feeling?”

“Mm. Good. Tired.” Jon yawns again. “How much longer?” 

“Couple hours,” Tommy says. That’s what he always says, even if they just took off. It always seems to pacify him. 

“Sounds good,” Jon murmurs. He tips his cheek against the seat. “I want a ginger ale.” 

“Okay, just a minute. They’re coming.” 

“Kay,” Jon says easily. His eyes flutter shut. 

When Jon’s fast asleep again, fingers barely clinging to his half-empty ginger ale, Tommy takes it gently out of his hand and puts it on his own tray table. Jon yawns and curls up against the window and Tommy smiles at him, abruptly fond. 

Suddenly he imagines Jon knowing what he did the night before, and the smile falls off his face. It’s so weird. It doesn’t feel real when it’s just in his head. It feels like it never happened. 

But it’s not just in his head, is it. It’s something he did. It’s something he did with his body, and Lovett’s body, and both of them know it. It’s real. 

If he wanted to, Lovett could destroy Tommy’s entire life in an instant. He could do it just for fun, just to hurt him, or- or, worse, he could do it because he feels guilty. Because he feels like he owes it to Ronan or Hanna or Jon or whoever. He could just turn. 

Tommy draws in a shaking breath and nudges Lovett with his elbow. Lovett pulls out an earbud and looks at him, curious. 

“You would- you would tell me, before you told anyone, right?” Tommy tries to keep his voice level. 

Lovett stares straight ahead. “I’m not going to tell anyone.” 

“I know, I’m just-” 

“Do you think I want people to know?” Lovett lets out a sharp laugh and goes quiet. After a minute he says, low, “Nothing makes me hate myself more than this whole- thing. It’s fucking pathetic. Trust me, you don’t have to worry.” 

“Pathetic?” 

Lovett looks away from him, knee shaking under his tray table. “You don’t have to worry, Tommy. I’m not going to tell anyone.” 

Tommy stares at him. _ Pathetic. _ What the hell does that mean? Why did Lovett do it if Tommy was so pathetic? He wants to ask so bad, but Lovett’s putting his headphones on again and his whole body is saying _ don’t talk to me_. A panicky feeling rises in Tommy’s throat and he has to inhale very slowly to keep it down. 

He looks the other way, out the window. Jon’s still asleep. All of a sudden Tommy feels trapped between them, buckled tight into his seat in a metal box in the sky, nowhere to go but down. He has to breathe deep again, forcefully, through his nose. Shit. 

Quietly he reaches down under the seat, then moves his hand to the left and grabs Jon’s bag. In the front pocket is his Dopp kit and in his Dopp kit are his pills. Tommy pulls the bottle up and twists it open, checking to make sure Jon’s still asleep. He probably wouldn’t care, but still. 

He shakes one out onto his palm. Lovett’s giving him a weird look now, eyebrow raised, but Tommy ignores him and swallows the pill with a gulp of Jon’s ginger ale. 

He puts the bottle back and shuts his eyes, waits to feel- better. Calm. For a while all he feels is guilty, heavy with dread, and then suddenly he’s asleep. Thank God.


	5. the truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw eating disordery stuff

**#5: the truth**

“That was really good,” Tommy says, tipping his head back against the seat of the cab. Jon rolls down his window a little. Austin is fucking hot. “The game was so funny. I was losing my shit.” 

“Yeah, it went well.” 

Tommy sighs. “We going out tonight?” 

“Travis sent the address of some bar. I think I’m gonna take a shower first.” 

“Yeah, good call. You stink.” Tommy makes a show of rolling down his window.

“Screw you.” 

Tommy laughs as his phone starts ringing in his pocket. He grabs it and Jon looks out the open window. 

“Hey you,” Tommy says, sounding soft. “Yeah, we just finished. I'm in a cab with Lovett.”

He sticks his hand out the open window. “Mmhm. It was pretty good. Yeah, I miss you too. I know. My flight gets in at four tomorrow. I’ll just Uber home, no worries.” 

Jon pulls out his phone and opens Slack. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, babe. I missed that email, but I trust your judgment. Dark pink and charcoal sounds perfect. I really like that.” 

Jon huffs a laugh and Tommy shoots him a look and raises his middle finger. 

“Yeah,” he says into the phone. “I know. I’m trying, Han. But you know I have a lot going on at work- yes. I know you do too. I know. I’m sorry. Resend the email and I’ll look at the samples right now, I promise.” 

He looks over at Jon. 

“Hey, we’re pulling up to the hotel, I gotta get off,” he says. “But send me that email. Good night, baby. Yeah- I love you too. Mm-hm. Okay, see you tomorrow.” 

Jon snorts. They’re nowhere near the hotel. Tommy grins at him and slips his phone into his pocket. 

“Wedding planning is in full swing,” he says. “If I have to see another email about the color scheme I’m gonna lose my mind. I just want to fucking marry her, I don’t care about the table settings.” 

“Husband of the year over here.” 

“Shut up.” Tommy laughs and looks out the window. “She’s better at all that stuff anyway. She’s only including me to be nice.” 

“Sounds like a convenient excuse.” 

Tommy snorts. 

“When are you and Ronan gonna tie the knot?” he says. “It’s been, what, six years? Man the fuck up, Lovett. Put a ring on his finger.” 

“Why shouldn’t I wait for him to ask _ me_?” Jon says primly. “I’m a lady.” 

“Maybe both of you are waiting for the other to ask them!” Tommy says excitedly. “Dude, that’s tragic. That’s like a rom com. One of you needs to pull the trigger.” 

“Marriage is so heteronormative, anyway-”

“Ohh, yeah, sure.”

“- our relationship transcends institutions.” 

“Pretentious dick,” Tommy says fondly. “Ooh, yeah, you’re enlightened because you both fuck other people sometimes. Groundbreaking.” 

Jon flips him off and Tommy grins at him. 

“I’m totally down to go out,” he says, as they pull up to the curb. “Should we get drunk? I feel like getting a little drunk.” 

“Alright, you fucking frat bro, let’s get drunk.” 

Tommy follows him out of the car, laughing. 

\---

On a Tuesday a few weeks later, he comes home to a Save the Date in his mailbox. There’s a photo of Tommy and Hanna, in formalwear, clutching each other in an overgrown forest with moony looks on their faces. _ July 28, 2018. Thomas Frederick Vietor IV and Hanna Koch. _

Jon leaves it on the table and grabs for his phone. Maybe he can get Emily to make fun of the photo. She pretends she doesn’t love making fun of them, but Jon knows she does. 

He opens up Instagram first. Emily’s posted a photo of two little boxes next to each other. One has a golden bracelet in it, and one has a silver flask. 

The caption says, _ Cutest wedding party invitations ever ❤️So excited to celebrate your love in July, @hmkoch and @tommyvietor !! Jon and I love you so much! _

Under it Hanna commented, _ Yay you got it!! Love you bridesmaid! Can’t wait!!! _

Jon stares at it for a second. Then he opens up a text to Emily and says- 

_ This save the date photo. How did Tommy convince Hanna to go into the woods while wearing that dress _

Emily sends back, _ Lol I think it’s cute!!! _

Jon rolls his eyes and she texts again. 

_ Btw: you, me, the Grove, this weekend. I need new shoes. _

Jon sends back, _ Ask another one of your gay friends I’m busy _

Emily texts back fast.

_ But you’re my favorite!! _

_ I will buy you lunch. And Cinnabon if you play your cards right _

Jon sighs. 

_ Add Starbucks to that list and I’m in _, he sends. 

All Emily sends back is a string of happy emojis. 

\---

On Saturday, Emily pulls him immediately into a bunch of stores that Jon never shops in. They’re in Banana Republic when she says, “So, Hanna’s doing pink for the bridesmaids. Great.”

Jon tenses up. 

“I look like a 12 year old in pink, it totally washes me out. But it’s her choice, I guess! Is Tommy doing gray suits?” 

Jon stares very hard at the price tag on a terrible sweater. “Not sure.” 

“I think Jon said something about that. Like, charcoal, not light gray. Are you gonna do Indochino? You and Jon should order together. Get that free shipping.” 

“You’re so thrifty.” 

“Aren’t I?” Emily plucks a blouse off the shelf. “Does that mean I can’t try on this $120 shirt?” 

“Let me see.” 

She holds it up to herself and arches an eyebrow. 

“Eh,” Jon says. “It’s a little suburban-mom-y. I’d wait a couple years.” 

She pouts and puts it back. "Tough but fair." 

"What can I say, I tell it like it is."

\---

Jon thinks she’s dropped the subject, but as soon as they’re out of the store she starts again. 

“So, about the suits,” she says. “Should I just order both of yours? I have Jon’s measurements.” 

“That’s slightly creepy.” 

“You know he can’t shop for himself. He’s hopeless. He would literally wear a Crooked t-shirt and gym shorts every day if he could.” 

Jon snorts. 

“Send me your measurements, I’ll put in the order,” she says, scrolling through her phone as they walk. 

“Yeah, you don’t have to do that.” 

“It’s no big deal. Just CashApp me.” 

“I mean, you don’t-“ Jon stops walking and she looks up from her phone. “This is awkward, but, uh. I’m actually not a groomsman.” 

Emily goes quiet. 

“So you really don’t need to do that.” Jon coughs and pulls out his phone. “Can we get lunch?” 

He starts walking, and she hurries after him. 

“Lovett, wait.” 

“There’s a new Mexican place. Sabor something. Eric said it was good. Or I’m up for-” 

Emily stops dead and huffs a breath. “Oh my god, I am not running after you. That is _ not _ our relationship.” 

Jon sighs and wheels around. “I’m hungry.” 

“You had a Cinnabon an hour ago, you’re fine.” 

“We _ split _ a Cinnabon an hour ago.” 

“I had two bites!” 

“You had at least five bites. You had a lot.” 

“Stop changing the subject. How do you know you’re not a groomsman?”

Jon lets out a short laugh. “Because I wasn’t- asked? I don’t know that much about heterosexual traditions, Emily, but I’m pretty sure the wedding party is invite-only.” 

“He might’ve just sent the one to Jon early because Hanna sent hers out early. Like, you don’t know. I bet he just hasn’t asked you yet. Seriously, it’s still so early.” 

Jon humphs in response and Emily offers him her iced latte. 

“You want me to ask Hanna?” 

“God no.” Jon takes a sip and hands it back. “Don’t give her another reason to hate me.” 

Emily groans. “Oh, come on.” 

“What?” 

“You know Hanna doesn’t hate you. Why would she hate you?” 

Jon just gives her a look. The truth is he doesn’t know why she would hate him, but he still thinks she does. He’s never once- _ once _\- seen her laugh at one of his jokes. He doesn’t say that out loud, because that would sound psychotic. People are allowed to not find him funny. Ronan tells him that all the time. 

“You know she likes you. You guys are just really- different.” 

“That’s obviously code for _ she doesn’t like you_.” 

Emily rolls her eyes. “Lovett.” 

“I’m _ kidding_,” Jon says. He’s not, but he’s ready for this conversation to be over. “Can we get lunch now? You haven’t even started looking for shoes yet, this is clearly going to be a long day.” 

“Fine,” Emily sighs. “Let’s go.” 

\---

He’s in the office late on a Thursday prepping for LOLI when Priyanka plops into a chair next to him. He looks up, bemused. 

“Hi, Priyanka.” 

“Hi Lovett,” she says, yawning. “How’s show prep going?” 

“Almost done. Why are you still here?” 

She makes a mournful face. “Can’t think of a title for the newsletter. Any ideas?” 

“You can’t just ask me to be funny on command, Priyanka. I need at least twenty minutes to get the juices flowing.” 

She rolls her eyes and leans her head on her hand. 

“So, I hear Tommy’s bachelor party is coming up.” 

Jon looks at her, genuinely surprised. He hasn’t heard anything. 

“Where are you guys gonna go? Vegas? New Orleans? How many strippers are we talking?” 

“Why would I know?” 

“Isn’t Favs planning it? He’s the best man, right?” 

“Okay, and why would that mean I would know?” Jon looks away, swiping his iPad open. 

“I thought you were-“ 

“I’m not a groomsman, so. I don’t know what they’re doing.” 

Priyanka’s silent for a second. 

“Oh,” she says eventually. “Sorry. I was just curious.” 

“Well, you can ask Jon if you’re so curious.” 

“O-_ kay_,” she breathes, eyebrows raising. “Sorry.” 

Jon sits there not moving for a long minute. His face is hot. 

“I’m gonna head out,” she says a few minutes later, shutting her laptop. “Are you good?” 

“I’m good,” he mutters. “See you tomorrow.” 

\---

He doesn’t find out what they’re doing until the next week, when he slips off his headphones in the office to hear Tommy saying to Travis, “It’ll be sick, man. You can crash on the couch if you want.” 

“What, I don’t get my own room? Asshole.” 

Tommy looks up like he can tell Jon’s watching him. He grins. “You coming to Malibu next weekend, Lovett?” 

“When? For what?” 

“My bachelor thing. Jon got an AirBnB that’s like, right on the beach.” 

Jon looks back down at his laptop. “I didn’t hear about that.” 

“He just booked it. We’re just gonna like, get wasted on the beach. Partake in some of California’s finest legal cannabis. Maybe do a brunch on Saturday. Nothing fancy.” Tommy straightens up and claps Travis on the shoulder. “I’ll text you the address, dude. I think I’m gonna drive out there at 5 or so. Just go straight from the office. You can come Friday and Saturday, or just one night, whatever. It’s fine.”

“Sounds good.” 

“Bring a sleeping bag. Maybe a tent if there’s no room inside the house.” Tommy cracks up when Travis gives him the finger. 

“Fuck you. I’m gonna sleep in your bed. We’re gonna cuddle.” 

Jon doesn’t look up when Tommy comes over. 

“Well?” Tommy says, flicking his ear. Jon slaps his hand away. In the corner he can see one of the new interns laughing at them behind her hand. “You coming?” 

“I have a show. We won’t get done til late.” 

“We’ll still be there Saturday night. Or drive out right after the show on Friday, I’m sure we’ll still be up.” 

Jon stares at his laptop. 

“Not sure if I can,” he says. “I think Ronan’s flying in this weekend.” 

There’s a long second before Tommy says, “Well, Ronan’s welcome too, of course.” 

It sounds fake. Jon grits his teeth. 

“We haven’t seen each other in a while,” he says. “Might want to just stay in. Have a chill weekend.” 

“Fair enough,” Tommy says. “No problem. Just let me know, okay? There might not be enough beds so I’m trying to get a headcount.” 

He claps Jon on the back and goes back to his desk. 

Jon sits there for a long minute, scrolling blindly through Twitter, barely reading it. He feels hot with embarrassment and he can’t look up. 

The thing is, it’s not even true. Ronan’s not flying in until Sunday night. Jon could drive to Malibu after the show, spend Friday and Saturday night there, drive back on Sunday morning, and still have a whole afternoon before Ronan lands. He doesn’t even know why he lied, except for that the way Tommy looked over at him made him feel like a fucking afterthought. He doesn’t want to feel that way all fucking weekend. 

\---

Favs texts him a few nights later. 

_ You coming this weekend?? _

Jon pauses the game and taps out- _ No, Ronan’s going to be in town. _

Favs texts back an hour later, when Jon’s brushing his teeth. 

_ Bring him!! _

Jon rolls his eyes and spits in the sink. Why are they all acting like they want him there? When he’s in bed, he sends- 

_ We’re just going to have a chill weekend. I haven’t seen him in a while. Have fun though _

He hits Send and turns his phone over on his nightstand, pulls the covers up over him and shuts his eyes. 

It buzzes a couple minutes later. Emily this time. Great. 

_ You’re not going to Malibu?? Is this about the groomsman thing? You should go! _

Jon sits up straight, suddenly furious. So they’re just talking about him, huh? He can picture it, the two of them in bed, passing their phones back and forth. Laughing at him and his sad little maneuvers. 

_ Ronan’s here and I haven’t seen him in a while. I think Tommy will survive me not being there. It’s not a big deal. _

Emily starts typing right away. Jon stares at the screen, waiting, but all she sends is- 

_ Well, it’s your call!! Good night ❤️ _

He draws in a shaky breath and puts the phone back down. Whatever the fuck that means. He doesn’t have the time for all her veiled girl-talk bullshit. He thinks about sending something back but in the end he doesn’t. That’s probably exactly what she wants. 

\--- 

“Good show, Lovett,” Elijah says after they wrap up on Friday night. “I’ll try to get it out by 10 tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, thanks. That was a fun one.” 

“You going out to Malibu?” 

Jon slings his bag over his shoulder. “Nope. Ronan’s coming to town.” 

“Ohh, nice. Have fun.” 

Jon should ask if he’s going, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to talk or fucking think about Malibu for the rest of the weekend. 

On his way home he turns into the McDonald’s drive-through and orders so much food he has to use his credit card to pay because he doesn’t have enough cash in his wallet. He starts eating in the car as he drives home, licking his greasy fingers, rolling the windows down so it won’t stink when he goes to pick up Ronan on Sunday. 

When he’s finally finished, he carefully shoves the bag down to the very bottom of his trash can and makes his way upstairs. 

He stares at himself in the mirror while he brushes his teeth. Sometimes he wishes he could just throw it all up, but he can’t. He hates throwing up. 

Ronan can always tell when he’s doing this again, going out of control, and he always calls Jon out on it. His _ little pity parties_, he calls them. 

Jon does the math in his head. He has 48 hours until Ronan flies in. If he drinks a fuckton of water and doesn’t slip up again before Sunday he should be fine. He’s gotten better at hiding it, over the years. 

He lifts his shirt, looks at his stomach for a long second. It looks deceptively normal. Kinda flat even. He was doing pretty well before tonight. 

Fuck, he should just puke. He should just shove the toothbrush down his throat until it all comes up. It’ll be like it never happened. For a moment he presses down on the back of his tongue with the brush, watching his eyes water in the mirror. 

He doesn’t. He just spits and rinses his mouth and climbs gingerly into bed with his phone. 

Favs posted on his story an hour ago, an incoherent video that’s too dark to see much of anything. Jon can hear people yelling, music blaring, and then Tommy’s voice, drunk and giddy, saying _ Bro, let’s take another one_. 

Jon watches it six times in a row and then puts his phone down and his face into his pillow. He feels nauseous, each breath shaking in and out. It’s fucked-up, how sick he can make himself feel, and how he does it over and over again. And now he’ll shit weird for days and won’t even feel like having sex with Ronan, even though they haven’t fucked in months. 

He shuts his eyes but he can’t sleep, so he opens up Instagram again. 

Emily’s posted on her story, close friends only. It’s a screenshot of a text from Favs, sent at 12:35 AM. 

_ Iiii love you !!!!!!!! My wife _

_ YOU ARE My WIfE 💚💚💚💚💚 _

_ I lvoe you! Tommy made me take teuiqla shots _

Over it, she wrote in pink letters- _ Should I be concerned? #YouAreMyWife #teuiqla _

Jon chokes a miserable laugh. He could be there right now, taking shots, having a good time, laughing at Favs. Why didn’t he just say yes? Why didn’t he just suck it up and go with the fucking flow? 

There’s something wrong with him, he knows that. Sometimes he forgets, sometimes he starts to feel like he’s moving past it, and then he has a night like tonight and he remembers. At his core he’s messed up and they’re not. 

He opens Emily’s story again, holds it still with his thumb to read it, and then shuts off the screen and buries the phone under the pillows on the other side of his bed.

\---

Ronan gets in on Sunday night. Jon picks him up at LAX with Pundit in the passenger seat. 

“Hey!” Ronan says as he gets in. “Oh hey, Pundit. Hi girl.” 

“She missed you,” Jon says. 

Ronan reaches over Pundit for his seatbelt. “Did you miss me, Pundit? I missed you too. Yes I did.” 

Pundit’s stubby little tail wags as Jon pulls away from the curb. 

“How was the flight?” 

“Long. But fine. Pretty smooth.” Ronan yawns, and Pundit tries to lick in his open mouth. “Oh thank you, Pundit. Thank you for the kisses, sweet girl. I missed you.” 

He looks over at Jon, grinning. “God, it’s nice to be here. It’s been raining for a week straight in New York.”

“I saw that.” 

“It’s awful. I ruined two pairs of shoes. Also I somehow don’t own a raincoat.” Ronan pets Pundit’s head. “How was your weekend?” 

“Good!” Jon says. The trash has been taken out, he’s been driving with the windows down to get rid of the smell, and he ate like a monk for the past two days. “Fine. Didn’t do much. Got some work done.”

“How’d the show go on Friday?” 

“It was great.” 

“Who’d you have?” 

“Emily Heller and Ira. D’Arcy was supposed to come but she had a thing come up.” 

“Oh, that's a solid lineup.”

“Yeah. Plus Jon and Tommy recorded a little intro in the studio on Friday, so that was good.” 

“Mmhm,” Ronan says distractedly. He puts his phone down and says, “When’s Tommy’s wedding again?” 

“July 28th. In Napa.” 

“Mm.” Ronan’s scrolling through his phone. “I’m not sure I can go. I have this panel thing.” 

Jon stiffens up. “Are you serious?” 

“It’s at Harvard! For the Political Review. It’s this whole annual symposium thing.” 

“I told you the date months ago. You said you could make it.” 

Ronan laughs. “It’s not a big deal. It’s not like Tommy and I are best friends. I don’t think he’ll mind.”

_ I’ll fucking mind_, Jon thinks pettily. Out loud he says, “I just thought you were planning on it. You said you’d put it on your calendar.” 

“Don’t be mad,” Ronan says, taking his hand. “I’ll try, okay? I’ll see what I can do.”

In Ronan-speak, that means no. Jon knows him. Most of the time he loves how much Ronan loves his work, and how important he is. Sometimes, though. Sometimes it sucks. He yanks his hand up and puts it on the wheel. Ronan tuts, sounding amused. 

“What, are you mad now? Is this how we’re gonna start the week? It’s just one wedding.” 

“No,” Jon says. “But you know I’m not even a groomsman, and now I have to, like, go without a date? It’s embarrassing.” 

Ronan sighs. “Are you still mad about the groomsman thing?” 

“I’m not fucking mad. But you have to admit it was a dick move, right? I mean, we’re good friends. It’s not crazy to think that he _ might _ have asked.” 

“Are you _ really _ that close, though?” Ronan says, in that annoying psychoanalyzing tone he does sometimes. “Like, would you be friends if you weren’t also both friends with Jon?” 

“I mean, I think so. We lived together in DC for a year. Not with Jon.” 

“That was forever ago, though. I don’t know. Jon’s kind of the glue.” 

“Interesting what a strong opinion you have on it, considering you’re never here,” Jon says. 

“Ohh, great.” Ronan looks over at him from under his sunglasses. “Are you gonna be like this the whole week? Or can we just fucking enjoy each other’s company?” 

Jon shuts up and drives, something sitting hot in his throat. Ronan sighs and looks out the window. 

\---

Ronan’s jetlagged and he collapses pretty much right after dinner. Jon cleans up, lets Pundit out, brushes his teeth, and then gets into bed next to him. He’s scrolling through Twitter on his Ipad when he hears Ronan mumble something into the pillow. It sounds like _ stop_. 

He looks over. Ronan’s clenching a fist tight in the sheets. Jon can see his mouth moving silently, brow furrowed. 

“Hey,” he breathes, rubbing Ronan’s warm shoulder. “Wake up. Wake up.” 

Ronan groans unhappily and digs his face into the pillow. 

“Hey,” Jon murmurs, shaking him. “Wake up, baby. It’s okay. You’re okay.” 

Finally Ronan’s eyes come open and he sits up straight. He’s breathing fast. “Jesus.” 

“You okay?” 

“I’m fine. Jesus.” He rubs his palms over his eyes. “Thank you.” 

“Yeah.” Jon watches as he slides back down into bed. He reaches out to stroke his hand through Ronan’s hair. It’s starting to get long again. “What was it this time?” 

“Oh, nothing new,” Ronan says. “My therapist says I have the most textbook childhood trauma dreams she’s ever heard. Which, like, I guess that’s a compliment?” 

Jon snorts and turns his iPad screen back on. 

“She thinks I should take sleeping pills,” Ronan says, yawning. “Temazepam. She wrote me a scrip but I didn’t fill it.” 

“Are you going to?” 

“Oh, they’re awful. They’re totally addictive. Plus, I can _ sleep_, I just wake up a lot. In a cold sweat like a Victorian heroine.” Ronan laughs. “I had this guy over last week and he thought I was having a heart attack. I woke up and he was like, about to call 911.” 

Jon looks down at his iPad. 

“The guy you met at your book reading? With the glasses?” 

Ronan yawns, throwing an arm over Jon’s thighs. “No, no. It was just this guy from Grindr.” 

Jon hums and keeps scrolling. That’s part of the deal, that they’re both allowed to use Grindr. Jon keeps the app in a folder on his phone. He hasn’t opened it in like, two years. 

He’s silent for a minute. He thinks maybe Ronan’s gone back to sleep until suddenly he says, “Don’t get all touchy. Remember, you wanted to know.” 

“I’m- how am I getting touchy? I didn’t say anything.” 

“Don’t get all insecure, is what I mean. I’m only here for two nights and I don’t want to fight, okay? Save it for Christmas when we can really get into it.” 

It comes out like he’s joking but it still stings. Jon feels the familiar urge to bite back, to argue. He wishes he weren’t like that. He wishes he could just cut out the part of himself that always makes things harder. 

“Jonathan,” Ronan says knowingly. “Don’t sulk.” 

“I’m not,” Jon says tightly. “Go back to sleep.” 

Ronan rolls his eyes and turns over, away from him. 

For a long minute Jon sits there without moving. Then he turns the screen off with a click and sets his Ipad aside. Ronan mumbles something when Jon slides down into bed next to him. 

“Hmm?” Jon says, adjusting the pillow under his head. 

“Love you,” Ronan murmurs, half-asleep. “Good night.” 

Jon shuts his eyes and tries to be still. “Love you too.”

\---

On the Thursday before the wedding, they end the workday with champagne. Tommy’s flying out early the next day but he still knocks back a couple glasses. 

By 6:00pm, everyone’s cleared out except Tommy and Jon. Tommy’s apparently sobering up, and Jon’s just avoiding going home. He’s having this restless feeling like he might slip up and go to a drive-through on the way home, and he wants to put it off as long as he can. Sometimes he can stop himself if he just waits long enough. 

“Wow,” Tommy says, taking a last sip of champagne. His cheeks are pink. “I can’t believe this is actually happening.” 

“You ready?” Jon asks. It seems like the kind of thing he should ask. 

Tommy rubs his hands on his knees. “I think so. I mean, I was ready to marry her like years ago, so. I’m definitely ready by now.” 

Jon nods, forcing a smile. “Jon showed me a video of the venue. Looks nice. Looks swanky.” 

“It’s insane. But there are like three weddings on the same weekend, it’s such a popular venue.” Tommy snorts. “It’s ruthless. We had to pay extra just to get the whole night." 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah. And it wasn’t cheap in the first place.” He leans back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “It’s kinda weird, isn’t it? Ten years ago I wasn’t even engaged to Katie yet. I hadn’t even met Hanna.” 

“Hanna was still in elementary school, wasn’t she?” Jon says, and Tommy snorts and gives him the finger. 

“Shut up. But for real. It’s so weird. I really thought I had it all figured out.” 

His face goes soft for a minute, lost in thought, and then he laughs. “And then my life fell apart and I moved in with you guys. What a time.” 

“What a time,” Jon echoes. 

“We were honestly really good roommates.” Tommy raises his eyebrows at him. “Weren’t we?” 

They kind of were. Jon didn’t expect it at first. He had this idea in his head about Tommy that wasn’t true, that he was some kind of asshole frat bro who didn’t want to be friends with an annoying gay Jew. For like two months Jon convinced himself Tommy hated his guts and then he couldn’t deny the truth any longer. Tommy was _ nice_. He shared his food, he laughed at Jon’s jokes, he played GTA with Jon and didn’t even get pissy when he lost. He washed all the dishes when they piled up in the sink. He patiently explained the rules of football during Patriots games, even when Jon didn’t listen and Mike tried to get him to shut up. They took coffee breaks during work. They got drunk together. They met each other’s families. 

And then something happened along the way that made them drift apart. And the worst part is, Jon doesn’t even know what he did. He didn’t even know it had _ happened_. He was just mooching along like a fucking idiot, thinking everything was fine and dandy, while Tommy was trying to figure out how to pull away from him. How fucking humiliating. 

He swallows and says, “Yeah, it was fun. Made DC slightly more bearable.” 

“Exactly,” Tommy says fondly. Jon looks down at his phone. “Mike and Cody are flying in tomorrow. We gotta take a reunion pic. Get the crew back together.” 

“Yeah, definitely.” 

“That’s the best part about weddings, I think. Like, obviously Hanna’s into all the fancy over the top stuff, which is fine. But I’m just excited for how many Obama people are gonna be in town. It’s like a big reunion.”

“That’s all you’re excited for? Careful, Tommy. You’re not married yet.” 

Tommy laughs and knuckles the top of Jon’s head. He must be tipsy. Jon scoots his chair back, out of his grasp. Against his will, he thinks- _ ask me right this second and I’d still say yes_. 

But Tommy doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, because if he wanted to, he would have before. He doesn’t _ want to_. Jon lets himself marinate in that feeling for a second. He doesn’t want to because they’re not friends, not really. Not close. They work together. It was Jon who thought it was something more. 

“Fuck _ off_,” Jon laughs, when Tommy won’t stop messing with his hair. “Get off me.” 

Tommy sits back in his chair and gives him an amused look. “You know what? You keep shit close to the vest, Lovett. Like, you pretend you don’t, but you do.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“You know I follow Ronan on Instagram, right?” 

Jon stiffens. 

“He wasn’t in town during my bachelor thing. I saw his story. He didn’t fly in til Sunday.” Tommy huffs a laugh. “If you didn’t want to come you could’ve just said. Or did you think you’d hurt my feelings? Are we in middle school?” 

“I thought he was coming. His plans changed last minute.” 

Tommy laughs again. “Okay, buddy.” 

Jon feels hot all over. 

“Alright,” he says. “Maybe getting blackout drunk with the kind of people who used to shove me into lockers in high school isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.” 

“Oh, there it is. Wowww. The truth comes out.” 

“I’m just saying, I-” 

“You must be _ exhausted _ with that giant chip on your shoulder, Lovett.” 

“Why do you even care, anyway? Didn’t look like you missed me.” 

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Oh, don’t pull that.” 

“Pull what?” 

“One of your little things where you act like no one’s including you. No pity parties.” 

Jon goes hot. “What the fuck does that mean?” 

“We invited you, dude. Don't act like I didn't invite you.” 

“And I didn’t want to fucking go.” 

“Fine,” Tommy says, testy. “Whatever. Who cares.” 

They’re both silent for a minute, staring at their phones, and then Jon remembers. 

“Oh yeah,” he says uncomfortably into the silence. “That reminds me, I forgot to tell you. Ronan can come to the wedding now. I’m gonna meet him at SFO on Saturday.” 

Tommy’s quiet for a second and then he lets out a short laugh. “Are you kidding?” 

“No?” Jon squints at him. “The symposium got rescheduled for next month so he got a last minute flight.” 

“The wedding’s in two _ days_, dude. You can’t just, like, RSVP two days before a wedding.” Tommy laughs again, rubbing his palms over his face. “Jesus. Do you know, like, what a wedding even is? It’s not a fucking casual hang.” 

Jon’s red in the face now. “I told you he might be able to come.” 

“Like six months ago! You also said I shouldn’t count on it!” 

“So, what? Should I tell him he can’t come?” 

Tommy sighs heavily. “No, Lovett. He can come. It’s fine. We’ll just- figure it out.” 

“I didn’t think it was a big deal.” 

“Oh, of course you didn’t,” Tommy says. He says it kind of lightly like he’s joking but it still feels mean. “Shit, now I have to tell Hanna.” 

“I could text her-” Jon offers, and Tommy snorts. 

“No. No. That would not be a good idea. I’ll tell her.” 

_ She hates me_, Jon thinks miserably. _ She hates me, doesn’t she_? _ That’s why I’m not a groomsman. Because she hates me. _

He bites his lip and says nothing. 

“Two days before the fucking wedding,” Tommy says to himself, still laughing, reaching for his phone. “Classic. You’ve outdone yourself, Lovett.” 

“Well, sorry,” Jon mutters. 

“Yeah, sure, dude.” Tommy grabs his bag. “It’s fine, we’ll figure it out. He’s not gonna be able to pick his dinner option, though. He’s getting whatever’s left.” 

“He doesn’t care about that.” 

“Alright, Lovett.” Tommy rolls his eyes. Just slightly, but Jon sees him. “You heading out?” 

Jon’s not sure. He looks back at his laptop screen. He _ is _ sorry. He didn’t think it’d be a big deal. It’s one fucking person. Can’t they just, like, pull up a chair?

“Jon?” Tommy’s standing up now, lifting his bag over his shoulder. 

“Gotta just finish up a couple things,” Jon says, squinting at his laptop. “I’ll see you later.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. Yeah.” 

“You want me to wait for you?” 

“Nope,” Jon says, gritting his teeth. “See ya.” 

Tommy gives one of those long-suffering sighs Jon hates so much. Like Jon’s infringing on his life just by existing. “Alright. See you in Napa.” 

“See you there.” 

He should say something else, probably. Like _ good luck _ or _ congratulations _ or all the other bullshit everyone else has been saying, like it wasn’t a foregone conclusion at Tommy Vietor’s birth that he’d marry a beautiful woman in a lavish ceremony on a vineyard in fucking Napa. 

He doesn’t. He keeps his mouth shut until he hears Tommy’s footsteps down the stairs. Then he shuts his laptop and puts his cheek down against it, listens to the empty office and the hum of computers.

On Saturday he’ll get on a flight to SFO and meet Ronan, drive the hour up to the vineyard, watch Tommy and Hanna get married, and then drink and eat and dance and celebrate like a fucking normal person. Like a nice person. He won’t think about the wedding party, or Malibu, or the way Tommy rolled his eyes at him just now. He won’t make it about himself. He’ll just be content. He won’t make things harder. 

He tells it to himself over and over. _ He won’t make things harder_. 

Then he lifts his head, and shoves his chair back to leave. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> if you liked it feel free to comment or message me at podsaveoursouls!
> 
> if you didn't like it feel free to send me anon hate calling me a bad fan!! 
> 
> THANKS


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